"You haven't parted from her?"

"Parted!" repeated Octave, "we are married."

"Heavens!" cried Monsieur de Bourbonne, "then why do you live in a
garret?"

"Let me go on."

"True--I'm listening."

Octave resumed the letter, but there were passages which he could not
read without deep emotion.

"'My beloved Husband,--You ask me the reason of my sadness. Has
it, then, passed from my soul to my face; or have you only guessed
it?--but how could you fail to do so, one in heart as we are? I
cannot deceive you; this may be a misfortune, for it is one of the
conditions of happy love that a wife shall be gay and caressing.
Perhaps I ought to deceive you, but I would not do it even if the
happiness with which you have blessed and overpowered me depended
on it.

"'Ah! dearest, how much gratitude there is in my love. I long to
love you forever, without limit; yes, I desire to be forever proud
of you. A woman's glory is in the man she loves. Esteem,
consideration, honor, must they not be his who receives our all?
Well, my angel has fallen. Yes, dear, the tale you told me has
tarnished my past joys. Since then I have felt myself humiliated
in you,--you whom I thought the most honorable of men, as you are